5 Times Watson Hurt Holmes' Feelings
by Funvee
Summary: 5 Times Watson Hurt Holmes' Feelings  But made it up to him each time .A collection of 5 short stories. SLASH! Holmes/Watson.
1. Chapter 1

When Watson Doesn't Know What He Wants

It had been a long day for one Doctor John Watson. He had spent all day seeing patient after patient and he was completely exhausted. He wished nothing more than to put his feet up by the fire, whiskey in hand and finish the novel he had started almost three months ago, but he knew his flat mate would be bustling with energy.

Holmes had finished his case a couple of days ago and Watson knew it would be a week or so before he began to sink into one of his notorious black moods. For now though, Watson would have to put up with his friend bouncing off the walls and he wasn't looking forward to it.

Closing the double doors of his practice rooms behind him, Watson sighed and braced himself before entering the sitting room. The sight of Holmes sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire was not unusual. The sight of Holmes sitting cross-legged in front of the fire with the entire contents of Watson's house-call gladstone bag spread out around him was also not particularly unusual. Sighing tiredly, Watson crossed over to his friend and began putting the things back into the bag.

"I've asked you not to touch my bag." He said as he twisted a pair of scissors out of Holmes' fingers and tossed them into the bag.

"I needed a sticking plaster." Holmes told him, looking extremely put out as Watson packed away the rest of his things.

"What for?" Watson questioned while trying to ignore the expression on his dear friend's face. Even though Holmes was (again) destroying his property, he always made Watson feel bad for putting a stop to what ever he was trying to do.

Holmes held out his left hand for Watson to inspect his palm. Taking the offered hand, Watson tilted it towards the light from the fire to get a better look. Across the delicate flesh of his palm was a short deep gash. It had stopped bleeding, but looked angry and sore.

"How did you manage to do this?"

"I broke a test tube whilst trying to combine sulphuric acid and-"

"Please tell me you didn't break the one with the acid in it?" Watson asked.

"If you let me finish, I was going to say that I was trying to combine sulphuric acid and red wine, a merlot to be exact, and-"

"Holmes, please. I am very tired. Let me clean this up and wrap it in a bandage. Plaster won't stick to your palm very well. You should have come and let me tend to it when you first injured yourself." Rummaging through his annoyingly messy gladstone, he pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton wool.

"You told me to go away."

Closing his eyes for a moment in frustration, Watson clenched his teeth to prevent himself saying something mean. Instead he began roughly cleaning the wound, causing Holmes to hiss in pain and try to pull away. Watson held on tightly to his hand. "I told you to go away because I had patients and you were annoying me. You know quite well that had you told me you were hurt I would have helped you."

Holmes didn't reply as he sulkily watched the doctor bandage his palm with more care than he had cleaned it with. When he was done, Watson collected the rest of his things and got to his feet, his war wounds aching in protest. He watched Holmes sulk for a long moment before suddenly feeling the urge to get away from Baker Street and head over to his club for dinner and drinks, despite his exhaustion. He didn't have the patience, energy or will to baby sit Holmes tonight and decided to leave him to his own devices. He needed time to think, to clear his head. He needed some alone time somewhere quiet.

Leaving the sitting room, he entered his own room and dumped`his bag on his bed. Quickly changing his jacket and replacing his tie with a cravat, Watson fixed his hair and returned to the sitting room. Holmes hadn't moved and ignored Watson as the doctor crossed over to the dinner arranged neatly on the clear space on the table. Lifting the lid on a serving plate he noticed that the food was stone cold and completely untouched.

"Holmes why haven't you eaten?" He asked glancing across at his friend who was still not looking at him.

"I was waiting for you so we could eat together." Came the petulant reply.

"Well you are going to have to eat on your own. I'm going out to my club for the evening." Watson said as he crossed to the door.

Holmes was suddenly on his feet and in front of Watson, blocking his path to the door. "Can I come? Just give me a few minutes and I'll get changed and-"

"No Holmes. I don't want you to come. Stay here and eat your dinner."

"But-"

"I want an evening to myself. I want to be able to spend a few hours in civilised company without you embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing you?" Holmes asked meekly, dropping his gaze to his shoes.

"Yes, embarrassing me Holmes. You know you are quite good at it don't you?" He snapped.

"I. . ." Holmes trailed off.

"I just need an evening, Holmes." Watson said in a softer tone. "You understand, don't you?"

Holmes gave a half shrug.

"Good. Now I don't know what time I'll be back. I'll get Mrs Hudson to warm your dinner up again and I want you to eat it, alright?" Watson didn't wait for his friend's reply as he took his over coat and hat from the stand and stepped around Holmes to the door. Feeling a prod at his shoulder, he turned back to find Holmes holding his cane out to him, though he kept his eyes downcast, his entire demeanour downtrodden and rejected. Taking it from him he gave his friend a small smile. "I won't be too long. Just stay here and behave."

Opting not to take a cab, Watson walked through the cold evening air before arriving at his club. He entered the welcoming atmosphere, greeting several other men on his way through to the bar where he ordered a whiskey and took a seat.

Watson was unaware of how long he had been sitting alone in the quiet bar though the ice in his untouched glass had melted long ago leaving his whiskey weak and watery. It didn't appeal to him in the slightest leaving him to wonder why he had even bothered to order it. He had wanted this evening alone, but his mind kept playing Holmes' crest fallen expression as he left him behind, over and over again. Watson felt terrible about taking his exhaustion out on his poor friend. Holmes hadn't done anything wrong. He was just being his harmless self.

He knew Holmes couldn't help that he didn't understand personal boundaries and personal space. He knew the detective wasn't to blame for himself having a bad day and being so damn tired that he couldn't even keep his mouth shut when he should have.

Holmes' confusion and hurt as Watson had said awful things to him made the doctor bite his lip to prevent a wave of tears escaping. Ridiculous! Watson suddenly hated himself for being so pathetic to think he needed to have any 'alone time'. He was tired for god's sake! He needed sleep. He needed Holmes. He loved the man with all his heart.

Standing suddenly, Watson slapped a few coins down onto the bench to pay for his untouched drink and left the establishment. He hurried out to the street and waved down a hansom with an old, tired looking horse with an even older, tired looking driver.

"Baker Street, 221B, my good man." He told the driver as he climbed inside.

Twenty minutes later, Watson cursed at himself for taking such a worn down hansom as the trip shouldn't have taken nearly this long. When they finally did arrive at Baker Street, he exited the cab and paid the driver. Casting one last look at the poor half dead horse (and feeling sorry for making the beast trot all the way here),  
>Watson made his way up the stairs and through the front door into the warm hall of 221B.<p>

"I hope you had a fine evening, Doctor." Mrs Hudson said as she came from the kitchen to take his over coat and hang it on the peg by the door.

"Yes, thank you." He gave her a smile. "Did Holmes eat anything?"

"Of course not, not even a bite, even after I warmed it up for him. What a waste!"

"I do apologise again for needing to go out, Mrs Hudson."

"Oh, never you mind. At least those little street rats appreciated my cooking." She gave him a slight smile, before it dropped and she looked concerned. "Doctor, I cannot help but notice that Mr Holmes is already in one of his bleak moods. He's already curled up in bed and refused to talk to me. Did his case not go according to plan?"

Watson felt his heart clench painfully as he realised Holmes had been more affected by the evenings events than he had thought. "He's just sulking, Mrs Hudson." He said, trying to smile reassuringly. "You know how he gets when he doesn't get his own way."

"Hmm, well, I will bring up some sandwiches for you both. See if you can get him to eat something." She said, before making her way back to the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, Watson walked up the stairs and went to Holmes' bedroom. He paused at the door before deciding not to knock and entered the room. It was dark inside, so he lit the gas lamp on the nearby stand. Seeing Holmes lying on his bed facing the wall, Watson removed his good dress jacket and cravat, then lay down on the bed close behind his friend so his chest was touching the lithe man's back. He kissed the nape of his lover's neck though did not speak. He knew Holmes was awake and he could tell his friend wanted to say something, so he waited.

"Do you hate me?" Holmes eventually asked. His tone was nonchalant, but Watson was not fooled.

"No."

"I think you do."

"What would make you think that?" He asked stroking the soft skin at the back of his neck. He knew Holmes had moments of self doubt and periods of feeling worthless when it came to their relationship, so he always let him speak before he reassured him. He knew Holmes had never been in any form of relationship and, even after they had been together for nearly a year, it was still the one thing he didn't truly understand.

"How could anyone love me?" He said after a lengthy pause.

Watson's heart felt twist and he bit his lip to keep silent. He kissed the dark hair and put an arm around his lover and waited.

"You said I embarrass you. And I annoy you. And. . .And you need civilised company. I waited for you for dinner and you left." He paused again. "I'm sorry I cannot be who you want me to be."

"Who do you think I want you to be?"

"Normal."

Unable to take this current round of self doubt any longer, Watson forced Holmes to roll over onto his back. Leaning down over him Watson kissed his lips chastely.

"I love you exactly as you are and I never, ever, ever, ever want you to change for anyone. I love everything about you. Sometimes you annoy me, sometimes you embarrass me and sometimes you bloody well infuriate me, but it does not make me love you less." He smoothed back the dark hair and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"But you didn't want to have dinner with me and you left me."

"I am just a tired, grumpy old sod who thought a night out somewhere quiet was just what I wanted. It wasn't. I sat there on my own and wondered what I was doing."

"You don't hate me?"

"Never. Can you forgive me for being a cad?"

Holmes nodded. "I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"I don't want you to be perfect. I want you to be you." He lent down and kissed him deeply. As they separated for air, he lent in close and whispered; "Do you know what else I love?"

Holmes shook his head with a frown as he noticed Watson's evil little smile.

"I love all your ticklish bits."

Holmes cried out as Watson launched his attack, tickling him ruthlessly and pinning him to the bed. He tickled him until he was crying tears of laughter and gasping for breath. He loved the sound of Holmes' laughter. It was a sound that wasn't heard nearly as often as it should be.

Deciding he'd had enough, Watson let up on his assault and kissed him again. Holmes kissed back hungrily and pulled Watson down closer. Watson slid a hand up under his shirt and down Holmes ribs and nipped at his neck.

"I think I'd better lock the door." The doctor whispered.

In the sitting room Mrs Hudson set the plate of sandwiches down on the coffee table and rolled her eyes as she heard the bolt slide home on the bedroom door.

"Boys." She muttered as she left the room. "As if I don't know what they get up to. They must think me a stupid old woman indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

Silk Shirts and Tea Cups.

Watson stomped around the disorderly sitting room shoving displaced items back where they should be and stacking papers up in piles. He cursed under his breath as he came across a tea cup filled with some strange green substance hidden under a shirt. Not just a shirt, his shirt. His best dress shirt. Which now had a huge green stain on it. Sighing in frustration, Watson tossed the shirt into the bin and picked up the cup.

"Holmes? Please come in here a moment." He called out, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, knowing that if Holmes detected it he would remain hidden away in his room. "Holmes?"

He heard shuffling in the next room before Holmes appeared at the door, looking grubby and unkept."Yes Watson?" He asked suspiciously, eyeing Watson's tiding job with displeasure.

"Tell me my dear chap, what in God's name is this?" He held the cup out towards his friend and the detective gasped and snatched it from him.

"Watson! This was my experiment! You've ruined it!" He cried.

"I've ruined it? What of my good shirt Holmes?"

"What of it?"

"What of it? It has been destroyed due to your lack of-"

"I needed it, Watson!I could not conduct this experiment without a silk shirt and I, having no silk shirt of my own, borrowed yours thinking that you would not mind!"

"Holmes, it was my best shirt! Damn your useless experiments, man! What the hell do they prove anyway? What good comes of them, apart from destroying my property?" Watson cried out in anger. "Who really cares about silk and green goop, or. . .Or salt and blood? Or what happens when you leave fruit to rot in different places, for example, in my own bedroom!"

"They matter very much, I'll have you know!" Holmes replied, clutching the teacup to his chest as though to protect it.

"To whom? Hmm? Who would care about your useless, stupid, pointless experiments? What significance, scientific or otherwise, do they have?" Watson shouted.

Holmes lowered his gaze to the cup as Watson continued his rant.

"You need to clean them all up and stop this nonsense. Honestly, you cannot think that any significant scientist is ever going to want to look at your cup of green goop-"

He was cut off as, suddenly, said cup was hurled at the floor and Holmes left the room, slamming the door behind him. Half of Watson was shocked at the outburst, the other wanted to follow Holmes and give him a thrashing for behaving in such a way. Just at that moment, Mrs Hudson opened the sitting room door with their afternoon tea tray.

"Dr Watson, what was all the noise up here? I heard something break-" She paused as she caught sight of her tea cup and the green coagulated substance all over the floor. "What has he done now? Another cup! Another cup, Doctor. At this rate I shall have no dinnerware left and you shall have to eat out of pots and pans and drink from vases!"

"I apologies, Mrs. Hudson. It was my fault. I offended him and he threw it in anger." He admitted.

"He is not a spoilt child who can be forgiven for throwing tantrums, Doctor. He is a grown man and needs to get control over himself!" She slammed the tea tray down on the only clear space on the coffee table with a little too much force.

Watson winced as the tea pot threatened to crack and the sugar cubes flew from their bowl, scattering across the tray. "Please Mrs Hudson. I really did upset him. It was not his fault, for once. I promise to pay for an entire new set tomorrow."

She sniffed indignantly as she brushed her hair back from her cheeks. "Well maybe just some new cups and saucers would be nice." She made to leave before pausing. "Could you please try and get him to wash and give me his clothes to launder? He looks as though he has been living on the street, rather than in a house that owns a bathtub and the means to get hot water."

"Of course." He said to her retreating back. "I do apologies Mrs Hudson."

"Just clean him up and feed him. You know there is no need to apologies, its not like it can change the outcome of these things." She said over her shoulder before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Eyeing the green goop once more and cursing himself for not being able to shut his mouth when he should have, Watson made his way to Holmes' room and knocked on the closed door.

"Holmes? Please open the door. I wish to apologies." He called out gently. Hearing papers being thrown around in the room, Watson pressed his ear to the wood, frowning. "Holmes? Open the door now or I will just come in."

Upon getting no answer, Watson opened the door and stepped into the chaos beyond. He was shocked to find Holmes by the open window tossing arm loads of paper out into the alley below. Instantly realising that the paper was not just paper, but Holmes' work, all of his notes on his experiments and such, Watson rushed over and grabbed him, wrestling him away from the window. Holmes twisted against him and fought to get lose, but Watson held him tightly.

"Stop it! Holmes stop!" He picked him up roughly and tossed him onto his unmade bed, holding him down until he stopped fighting and instead lay under the Doctor's hands, breathing harshly and trembling slightly.

Cautiously, Watson removed his hands and stepped away. He closed the window and ran a palm over his face, taking a deep breath. Walking back to his friend's side, he sat down beside him and rubbed his back.

"You know I didn't mean what I said. I just get annoyed that you do not seem to care about my personal belongings. I did not mean to upset you." Upon getting no answer, he painfully slid to his knees to be face to face with the other man. He smoothed the dark locks back from his face and lent in close. "You know I was only speaking out of anger. I respect everything you do, that includes your experiments."

Again he received no reply so he cupped Holmes, cheek and kissed his forehead. "You shouldn't have thrown all of your notes out of the window, my dear. I have no doubt that your experiments and studies have a greater purpose than what I can see and I apologise that I am too narrow minded to see it. But, my dear, dear boy, you need to keep your things confined to your own room and not take my things and destroy them. I am sorry I have upset you." He kissed him again. "Oneday, we will put all of your notes together and publish a book that only the most brilliant of people will be able to understand. They will all see what significance a silk shirt and tea cup have."

"I didn't mean to ruin the shirt." Holmes whispered sulkily.

"I know. Just, please, ask if you need to borrow anything of mine in the future." He kissed him gently on the lips before raising himself to sit on the edge of the bed again. His leg howled in protest but he ignored it. "I'm sorry I yelled at you and said those nasty things. Forgive me?"

Holmes nodded and allowed the Doctor to sit him up and pull him into his embrace. They stayed that way for a long few minutes. Watson relished the feeling of Holmes in his arms. For as long as they had been together, he knew that he would never tire of loving this man, no matter how many damn silk shirts he destroyed. Tipping Holmes' head back, Watson kissed him deeply before breaking away.

"You know I love you more than anything in this world, don't you?" He asked.

Holmes nodded and kissed Watson's jaw. "And I you."

Watson grinned at him, ruffling up the detective's dark hair. He knew it was hard for Holmes to ever express his feelings, so every time he did, Watson felt his heart swell with emotion. He really loved this man.

Kissing Holmes' ear, Watson whispered, "Bath time." Swiftly, in one graceful movement, Watson stood and lifted Holmes with him, tossing him over his shoulder. Holmes let out a squark of surprise and Watson laughed as he carried him out of his room and down to fulfil Mrs Hudson's wish of giving the ruffian a good scrub. But, of course, Watson had his own thoughts on how to complete the task and they didn't only involve soap and water.

The next morning as Watson opened the front door onto Baker St, he found a neat pile of papers tied together with a ratty bit of string sitting on the stoop. Smiling, he bent to pick them up and ran a finger over Holmes' messy writing. He really must remember to give the irregulars a few shillings next time he saw them.

Thanks to everyone who added me or my story as a favorite! Feel free to review too though! The more reviews I get, the more it encourages me to keep on writing!


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